I was so saddened to read that they have found young Julian’s body. Like millions of other people, I have been praying and hoping that he would be found alive. It is such a tragedy – my heart goes out to the family. May God help them find justice and peace.
Transformation
Outside the wind rages, throwing a tantrum against any leaves that dare defy it by staying on the trees. Branches flail against the assault but are not strong enough to cling to their brightly colored dress. Tomorrow they will be embarrassed at their bareness and know the humans walking beneath their majestic branches will grumble about their nakedness for it means the invasion of winter is imminent.
Earlier, snow flurries descended timidly from the sky as if they knew no one would be rushing out to greet them. They had the decency to dissolve the moment they gracefully landed on the ground. Surely those were just a few stray flakes that immigrated from Canada on a whim. Hopefully that vast wilderness north of us can contain the cold weather within its boundaries for another month or two. Really, we incessantly insist they not share it with us until at least Christmas.
Snow falls so quietly – sneaking on the scene with nary a sound which is so unlike rain who announces itself with such thundering theatrics and a light show. Walking in a snowstorm, one is astounded at how it seems a shroud of silence has entombed the world. Even though the snow can be falling so hard it causes a whiteout, you hear nothing. Rain will pound the earth as a rebellious child demanding attention but the snow is a graceful lady who doesn’t want to make a scene.
Once the snow carpets the ground, everything seems so clean and peaceful – even the stars in the heavens look refreshed and sparkle brighter. A sweet evergreen fragrance fills the crisp air as if angels had drenched us in a fine mist of potpourri.
Who can hate something as cleansing and polite as snow?
Last Christmas
For my family who reads this, I am telling you up front that it is a work of fiction. Yes, it is loosely based on Grandma’s last Christmas but obviously I don’t know how she felt sitting there in her house alone. In other words, enjoy it as a story or don’t read it at all. 
Last Christmas
They’d call, she assured herself as she watched her granddaughter’s car pull out of the driveway, taking with her the last chance she had had to go to someone’s house for the holiday. She had almost been convinced to go, almost. But she knew that they’d call, it was Christmas after all.
She turned her weary 87 year old body away from the window, shuffling slowly back to her chair. She knew she should get a cup of coffee while she was up, maybe even go to the bathroom, because getting out of that chair was getting harder and harder every day but she needed to rest.
Bones groaned as she lowered herself into the comfortable rocking chair her eldest son had purchased for her some years back. She smoothed the arms, repositioning the little coverlets that went on each side so they covered the burn marks. Sometimes those damn cigarettes got away from her and scorched the fabric a bit but none of them were serious. She refused to admit to others, neigh even to herself, that sometimes she fell asleep in the chair with a cigarette burning.
Her children would worry too much if she told them that – they’d probably discuss putting her in a nursing home but she’d rather die than go somewhere like that. She had lived in this house for over twenty years, she wanted to die in it just as her husband had years before. Of course, not today though because they were going to call any moment now.
With weathered, wrinkled and fragile hands, she picked up her crocheting. She was working on a baby blanket for one of the grandkids, she couldn’t remember which one right now but that was because she was blessed with so many. Heck, she had a lot of great grandchildren as well. Where did the time go that her kids could have kids who had kids?
Rhythmically she weaves the yarn together to make yet another keepsake item to pass down. How many keepsakes had she made in her lifetime? Many, she knew that much. She turned on the tv to have some background noise for it kept her from feeling quite so alone. Outside the weather was cold and snowy, she was glad she had decided to stay home where it was warm. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at the phone.
Right now, her kids and their families would be eating their big Christmas feasts. They would be laughing and reminiscing, while their children ran amok in the house. Or maybe the kids would go out to make snow angels or snowmen. Kids still did that kind of stuff didn’t they? She wasn’t sure. Usually when her kids came for a visit they had their children play outside in the yard. A few would complain about being bored but most of the time they seemed able to entertain themselves.
She paused from her crocheting to light a cigarette and watch a few minutes of tv. Really, her eyes were so bad that the tv was pretty blurry and the sound on it wasn’t that good either. Her son said it was her hearing but she didn’t think so because she could turn the volume up as far as it would go and still barely be able to hear it. Poor child, he had so much on his mind that she couldn’t bear to burden him with checking it out again – no, she’d just suffer with it being hard to hear.
“Suffer the little things” Her mother used to tell her, “no point in adding to someone else’s load if you can help it.” So she had suffered. Suffered through an abusive husband, suffered with twice being widowed, and suffered in silence as her children had struggled to find their way. Suffer, suffer, suffer. Quite frankly, she was tired of suffering. Why didn’t they call? Was she so unimportant to them?
She pushed herself out of her chair to check the phone for the hundredth time that day. Yes, it had a dial tone and it seemed to be working alright. She hobbled into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of cold coffee. Maybe the kids were opening presents right now so they were too busy to call yet. She sighed heavily. It never entered her mind that the phone worked both ways and she could call them just as easily as them calling her. No, they loved her and would call soon.
She slowly made her way to the bathroom – using available furniture as canes rather than walking with one. The bathroom was always the coldest room in the house; she hated having to go in there. As she made her way back to her chair, she stopped at the phone once again to pick up the receiver. They would call soon, she reassured herself as she gently placed it back in its cradle.
But they didn’t call. Of her four children, none of them called to wish their elderly mother a Merry Christmas. None of them considered that she would be sitting alone in her house waiting and wishing for them to call her. They had their own lives to lead, things were always hectic on holidays, on and on the excuses went.
Maybe if they had only known it would be her last Christmas, they would have made the effort. But how was one to know these things? She had always been there and they had not imagined it any differently. Instead of feeling blessed to have such loving children, she climbed into bed that night with such a deep sorrow. Loneliness weighed down on her and she prayed to God that He would just take her home. Never had it been more evident than this day meant for family time that she had outlived their need for her.
On the wall opposite her bed hung a picture of Jesus nailed to the cross. It was one of those trick pictures that, when viewed at a different angle, showed Jesus in all his glory rising from the dead. She gazed at that picture a long while before pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes. Somehow, knowing that He was there and had been there with her all day long, comforted her as she drifted off to sleep.
